The Cambridge Affair
by not-our-divisi0n
Summary: When DI Lestrade meets the younger sister of the great Sherlock Holmes, will they become more than friends? What lengths will he go to just to save her? - Lestrade/OFC fanfic, explicit content starting fairly early on.
1. Chapter 1 - Flies

Chapter 1 – Flies

"Sherlock Holmes, if you conduct any more of your frigging experiments in my bedroom I will kill you! And before you quip me with that sharp tongue of yours, you know full well that I am studying forensic science at Cambridge, I know 1001 ways to kill you without leaving a trace!" you stumbled out of your bedroom, which you had woken up in to find that you were being kept company by several jars of flies, all buzzing angrily, the sound only slightly muffled by the glass and metal lids. Your flaming ginger hair, matched almost too well by your raging temper, fell a little way down your back, slightly poofy with fresh bed head. As your long pale legs, covered mid-thigh by long grey socks, pounded down the stairs, your green eyes look for the culprit: your brother. The sister of the great Sherlock Holmes, although he and Mycroft never spoke of you. Apparently, you'd be in danger if they did because of their 'dangerous jobs' and 'powerful enemies'. Yeah okay, whatever boys, you could look after yourself, with your black belt in karate and your not inconsiderable amount of boxing trophies. However, seeing as you were rather a lot younger than both of them (19, almost 20), you supposed that they could baby you a bit.

As you reached the kitchen, appearing out of a side door meaning you could enter without having to go through the lounge (hopefully avoiding John, if he had returned from his shopping trip, who would otherwise most likely be sitting at the desk updating his blog – but if he saw you in just a baggy t-shirt, thigh high socks and some black lace brazillian underwear, you didn't think he'd be paying much attention to his computer any more). You turned your back on the living room straight away, not even bothering to see if you were correct about John's whereabouts, too intent on finding Sherlock. And there he was, sat in a chair at the kitchen table, facing the living room at an angle; almost as if he'd been looking at something, but you didn't dwell on that, you got used to it after living with Sherlock Holmes for a while. He looked somewhat startled to see you, and you took this moment of silence on his part to let rip once more.

"Sherlock, you may have been able to do this when it was just you and John, although I honestly don't know how he put up with your bloody experiments _and _you, but now I'm here there shall be no more experiments left lying around, or anywhere else but your bedroom, unless I give my express permission for them to be elsewhere. Understood?" standing with your hands on your slim waist, you waited for his response, but you got none; in fact, he seemed to be… smirking at you. Almost laughing, actually. This infuriated you even more, as you spoke through gritted teeth with your head cocked slightly to one side.

"What. Are. You. Laughing at?" you hissed, narrowing your eyes and glaring at him. With a small chuckle, he waved his hand, indicating for you to turn around. You whipped your head around, wanting to see what your dear brother found so funny. As you fully turned around, your eyes widened and your mouth fell open slightly in shock; stood in the entrance to the kitchen, just a few feet away from where you were standing, stood three people: the one furthest to your left was a woman with dark skin and short, very curly hair, dressed formally in a grey suit with a black V-neck t-shirt tucked into her high-waisted trousers. A huge grin was plastered on her face, looking directly at you, obviously amused by your recent outburst. Furthest to your right stood a man whose face reminded you somewhat of an eagle's or a falcon's, and he too had the same amused expression on his face; however his eyes, unlike the woman's, were roaming her body. Clad in all black, he really wasn't your type, and his presence alone was starting to creep you out. The man stood in the middle of the two others captured your attention away from the other guy pretty quickly though, and all thought of his creepy aura was gone. This man looked slightly older than the other two – perhaps in his late thirties, early forties? - But his slightly ruffled salt-and-pepper hair was nothing but extremely sexy. His chocolate brown eyes were warm and smiling, matching the cheeky grin on his face, surrounded by slight stubble the same colour as his hair. His hands were tucked in the pockets of his light grey trousers, matching his jacket and contrasting with his white shirt nicely. You noticed his eyes scan your body quickly, but then he locked eyes with you and his cheeky grin turned slightly more sheepish.

"Emma, this is Donovan, Anderson and Lestrade" you heard your brother say from behind you; you could also hear the smile plastered across his face.

"Err… erm…" you stuttered, suddenly very aware of your state of undress.

"Lestrade, Donovan, Anderson, meet my little sister, Emma Holmes." The two men stood still and silent, as did you, however the woman chuckled, still smiling broadly, and stepped forward to shake your hand.

"I'm Sally Donovan, and I do hope I can be around in the future, when you speak to him like that again." She crossed her arms and shot a dark look at Sherlock, before looking back at your kindly. You scoffed,

"That was nothing, you should see me when I get really angry; last time I broke his nose… again." You grinned at her as she laughed and stepped back into line with the two males, who still appeared to be speechless. You suddenly remembered why, as you look down at your pyjamas with disdain and dashed up to your room to hide your embarrassment and your body. You quickly changed into a pair of black jeans and a plaid flannel shirt and ran back downstairs, your quarrel with Sherlock forgotten for the moment; you just wanted to see that mesmerising man with the salt-and-pepper hair again.

When you got back downstairs they were all in the living room, minus John (who you assumed was still out food shopping) and you heard that man – Lestrade, was it? – talking in a thick cockney accent, which was very attractive and gravely, and your fascination in him grew by the second.

"Sorry about that," you announced as you walked into the living room, your confidence returning, "I don't expect company as a general rule when I'm with Sherlock." He sent you a withering look whilst everyone else chuckled and turned to look at you.

"So, let's start again shall we?" you said, smiling.


	2. Chapter 2 - Freak

As Sherlock tried to introduce you once more, you interrupted.

"Yes, thank you Sherlock, I can introduce myself, I am fully aware of my own name." this earned a chuckle from Lestrade, while the other two grinned. You stuck your hand out to Sally first, who shook it warmly.

"It's lovely to meet you, I'm Emma Holmes." You smiled.

"Well hello Emma Holmes, I'm Sally Donovan, pleased to meet you." She smiled back and winked playfully. Next was the creepy guy.

"Hello, I'm Emma Holmes, it's lovely to meet you." You lied, sticking out your hand. Instead of shaking it, he pulled it up to his mouth and kissed your knuckles, looking you in the eyes and murmuring,

"Enchanté." Urgh, what a slimeball. You smiled at him nonetheless, hoping it didn't come out as a grimace, but then giggled as Anderson let out a grunt, he had just been clipped around the back of the head by Lestrade (you were assuming this was the right name for the right person, as the creepy guy never actually told you his name).

"Oi, Anderson, stop scaring her." His deep, rough voice chided playfully, as he grinned at you and grasped your hand enthusiastically. Before you could manage to stutter out a hello to this gorgeous man, he had started to introduce himself.

"Hello there, Emma Holmes, I'm Greg Lestrade, detective inspector of Scotland Yard, and that pillock there is Anderson. The pleasure is all mine."

"You took the words right out of my mouth, detective inspector." You replied, smiling and parting your lips slightly, looking him in the eye – oh those eyes, you could just drown in them.

"Please, call me Greg." He said, still holding onto your hand softly.

"Hi Greg." You said dumbly, too mesmerised by his eyes to think of anything else to say.

"Hi Emma." – It seemed he was having the same problem. Your hands still locked together, shaking slowly, you both stayed locked in each other's gaze until Anderson cleared his throat rather a lot louder than necessary.

"Err, yes well, sir, I think we'd better leave now – we've got everything we want from the freak." Your head whipped round to look at him, and before anyone could blink you had dropped Greg's hand and were standing millimetres away from Anderson's face, your eyes hard and stony, glaring into his.

"The only person in this room who is allowed to call my brother names is me… and maybe Sally and Greg because I like them. But not you. Understand?" you growled menacingly.

"Y-yes." He stuttered, clearly shocked by your powerful presence.

"Good." You smiled sweetly before turning your back to him and rolling your eyes, dropping the smile instantly. Sally and Greg were both smiling amusedly, trying to hold back their laughter.

"I never thought I'd be saying this about a relative of Sherlock Holmes, but I'm really starting to like you Emma." Sally chuckled once more before walking towards the door, grabbing Anderson's arm on the way out; he was still standing in the exact spot which you had left him in, looking rather shocked. As they walked out, leaving the door open behind them for their boss, said boss let out a sound of shock mingled with amusement and rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. Sherlock had already left the living room and returned to the kitchen.

"Sherlock, I hope you're in my bedroom removing those flies before I get _really _angry." You shouted to try to alleviate the tension between you and Greg, alone together in the living room. You heard a grunt, and then a few seconds later you heard feet thudding up the stairs, like a naughty child being sent to his room. Greg laughed.

"I have never seen anyone order Sherlock around, where he actually obeys them. He must really love you. I never thought he was capable of love." Greg said in awe.

"You'd be surprised at just how much Sherlock actually feels. He has a lot of barriers though, it takes a lot to break them down." You told him truthfully. You didn't know why, you just felt like you could trust him. He started kindly at you for a moment, looking like he was examining you, your very soul, before he looked down at his patent black shoes, a slight rosy hue in his cheeks.

"Well, uh, I suppose I'd better go, duty calls." He rubbed his neck again and stepped forward, but you were blocking his was to the door. You moved to the left, trying to get out of his way, but he seemed to have the same idea. This carried on a few more times; both blocking each other's way.

"I'm so sorry." You giggled as you once again unerringly stood in his way. He finally gave up and stopped trying to move past you. He grabbed your arms in a friendly way and leant in to whisper in your ear.

"It was a pleasure meeting you, Emma Holmes… fantastic first impression." You blushed furiously as you remembered your rather revealing outfit when he first saw you. He pulled back and winked at you, leaving you in a state of shock with a slight grin on your face as he walked part you and out of the door, hearing it slam shut behind him. You were quickly brought back to reality, however, when a loud sash and a furious buzzing invaded your thoughts.

"Sherlock!" you shouted, exasperated with your rather clumsy brother.

"Oh, have they all gone then? And he's divorced by the way, and hasn't been on a date since said divorce." Sherlock strode back into the living room, after depositing the remaining jars on the kitchen table. A fly buzzed around the lightbulb on the ceiling, while another two tried desperately to get out of the closed windows. You could hear the rest in the kitchen.

"Yes they are, and I hope you're going to clean up all that gla- hand on, what are you talking about?"

"Lestrade. Detective inspector. 'Greg'." He did air quotes around his name, waggling his head a little and smirking at you.

"Oh come on, Emma, you were practically swooning!" Sherlock sat down in his chair and put the tips of his fingers together, peering at you over the top of them. Stuttering, a blush crept up your cheeks, and you could not think of a retort. Luckily, you were saved by John walking through the door, laden with shopping bags.

"Ah, good morning Emma, it's a bit early for you to be up isn't it?" you took your phone out of your pocket and looked at the time: 10am.

"Oh bloody hell Sherlock, YOU AND YOUR FRIGGING EXPERIMENTS!" you shouted at him.

"She's just a bit grumpy because Lestrade didn't give her his number." Sherlock swept through to the kitchen, followed closely by you and John.

"Oh shut up Sherlock, I don't know what you're talking about." Slamming a cupboard door shut and almost breaking the handle off your favourite mug as you banged it down onto the counter, you pushed past Sherlock to turn on the kettle.

"Emma fancies Lestrade?" John looking slightly amused. "Isn't he a bit old for you, Emma?"

"No!" you said indignantly as you put a tea bag into your mug.

"No you don't fancy him, or no he's not too old for you?"

"John for goodness sake, you're as bad a Sherlock!" you poured the boiling water into your mug and pressed the tea bag furiously, letting out some of your frustration.

"Oh, now I'm offended." John replied, dramatically clutching his chest. Ignoring him, you looked at Sherlock, who was now back in his original chair, peering into his microscope, becoming fully absorbed in what he was looking at in a matter of seconds. You snuck over to him and looked over his shoulder, bending over slightly. He didn't notice you were even there. You took a deep breath.

"SHERLOCK HOLMES! GO AND CLEAN UP THE GLASS YOU BROKE THIS INSTANT!" you shouted down his ear, moving your head out of the was just enough to avoid getting head-butted, as your brother jumped so far out of his chair you were surprised he didn't hit the ceiling. John broke down laughing, leaning on the table for support as tears streamed out of his eyes. Sherlock stalked out of the kitchen with a dustpan and brush, muttering under his breath something about his genius being wasted, and cleaning is boring.

"Come on John," you said, tugging on his arm, "while he's busy, let's go get out Halloween costumes, we only have a week!" you linked your arm with his, pulling him towards the door.

"I thought you were going out with your friends from uni? Why do I need a costume?" he asked, bemused by your enthusiasm.

"Oh, didn't Sherlock tell you? My friends and I are starting the night in the pub down the road before moving on to the bars, and you're both coming with me!" you exclaimed happily, before shoving him out of the front and down the stairs, into the street.

"Me? Sherlock?! But why?" his shock that Sherlock had agreed to this was obvious on his face.

"A few of my friends fancy you, and you never do anything fun these days." You said simply, hailing a cab and pushing John in before he could protest further.

"You know," John said, a twinkle in his eye, "Greg often visits the pub down the road. We might see him." He winked at you as you elbowed him in the ribs.

"Oh shut up John."


End file.
